Mythomania
by MissLauraGrey
Summary: I don't believe that Gibbs just left things with the whole, 'my health is fine' conversation with Jenny. She must've known that he knew, otherwise, why would he ask? And Gibbs would've known that Jenny knew that he knew, so why did she lie to him? So, this is a little 'extra scene' that I wanted to include. Jibbs. Oneshot.


_A/N - this all came from a paragraph I wrote on Tumblr last night about how much of a flawed character Jenny Shepard was, and then I ended up watching the season 4 roundtable interview on YouTube when Mark told Lauren how he thought Jenny Shepard was one of the toughest roles she ever played, and how she didn't give herself enough credit for it. _

_Also, I like Jenny circa end of season 5. _

* * *

Jenny Shepard had been his finest agent once. She'd been a firecracker - determined to prove her worth in a predominantly-male agency, determined to voice her opinions, run through her theories, gain the responsibilities that came with this career.

But she'd always been a liar.

It had taken him years to realise she had a tell - a failing, on his part. It was tiny; a small spasm of her eyelid, a little flutter that most would never notice. But he did, because she lied to his face. She lied with her eyes closed, she lied when she was all out of words. She lied in her _sleep_. He wasn't sure he'd ever had the truth from her.

He should have never told her about her tell. She'd learned to fix it. She'd probably trained herself to believe her lies - after all, she lived with them. Her whole life revolved around them.

Which is why, on Saturday, when he'd been thinking about how, once again, she'd refused to tell the truth, he'd gone to her, and when she'd answered the door, there were no other words in his vocabulary except for, "you're a liar".

It was well after two in the morning, but she was clearly still awake, dressed in the smart black dress she'd worn to work, her hair tousled around her shoulders, she raised her eyebrow at him and gave him a saracastic smirk. "Nice to see you too, Jethro."

Her eyes glinted in the muted light, but there was nothing teasing in her tone. Where she'd once been playful and enthusiastic about him, she was cold and calculated. She didn't bother to invite him in, turning on her stilleto heel and leaving him on the threshold to make up his own mind.

"Is there a reason for your wonderful company or are you simply here to insult me and leave?" He watched as she took a seat in the leather chair, pushing the paperwork she'd clearly been engrossed in, to the other side of the desk, away from his gaze. She picked up a cut glass of alcohol and swallowed the remaining amount in a quick gulp before fixing her eyes on him.

"I know you're sick." He'd wished he'd been less blunt, but eloquence wasn't really his thing, and she didn't even seem to react anyway. She placed the cup down carefully, her eyes never leaving his.

"We're going back to this, are we?" When he said nothing, the side of her mouth pulled up in a smirk. "I'm _not_ sick."

She'd barely gotten the words from her mouth when he lost it. He smacked his hand against the table so hard that she jumped, and all the pretense seemed to fall away. The smirk dropped from her face and despite the golden glow of the firelight, she seemed to pale in front of him. Now she really _did_ look sick. "You're lying. Again. I spoke to Ducky. I _know_." He forced himself to lower his voice, to keep himself in control.

She said nothing. Absolutely nothing. Which was possibly more infuriating than her bitchy little smirk, and her insistence that she was fine. "Will you _say_ something?"

"What the hell do you want me to say, Jethro? You seem to know everything anyway. Fine. I'm sick. You caught me. Would you like some sort of reward now, is that how this works? Ducky ran a test, I'm dying. End of story."

"You're ... you're what?" If possible, her face got paler, and she started to look like she was going to pass out. The moment when she said it out loud for the first time, he guessed. "Ducky said some muscle disease?"

Jenny glanced down, running a hand through her hair and sighing. "Yes. It's hereditary - a disease that attacks the muscles, which slowly begin to deteriorate, until I can no longer walk, move .. breathe .." She was quick to pour herself another glass of whichever alcohol she was drinking tonight. It was more than a half measure, and she didn't waste any time in swallowing it back. "Happy now?"

"Jen," he chided, completely blindsided. He'd come her to yell at her, so angry with her he was trying to reign it in before he hurt himself. But now all he felt was pity, and sympathy, and sorrow. And it was confusing.

"Don't you _dare_ look at me like that. _This_ is why I didn't tell you, Jethro. I don't want your goddamn pity."

"Who else knows?"

"You, Ducky, end of list. I don't want this in the NCIS bulletin next month, okay? Just leave it."

"You're seeing a doctor about this, right?" Her silence spoke volumes. "Jesus Christ, Jen!"

"Leave it! You should never have known about this, it wasn't Ducky's place to tell you.."

"Were _you _ going to tell me!?"

"It's none of your business!"

"I'm your _partner-"_

"No, you're not!"

The silence seemed to ring in the air, so deathly calm. He glared at her, his eyes boring into hers. But she didn't back down from this - she couldn't lose face now. She'd worked too hard to get him out of her heart, she wasn't going to let him back in. She wasn't going to be another one of his many ghosts.

Gibbs took a deep breath. He didn't even know why he'd said he was her partner; they hadn't been partners in eight years. Though it was easy to revert back to old ways sometimes, it was never going to be like that with them. They'd been through too much. He still remembered her on her first day in NCIS, the first day she'd shot someone, the first time she'd witnessed an autopsy. He still remembered the look on her face when she'd said that she loved him, still remembered the smell of her hair, the feel of her skin, still remembered the sound of her voice when she said she'd 'be back in a second', only to never return to their flight out of Paris. And now here she was, sitting in her father's study, the Director of the agency, looking him in the eye, and telling him that she was dying.

"I think you should leave .." she said finally, quietly.

"Have you ever told me the truth about anything?" he asked bluntly, nastily. She balked. Did he really think she was a compulsive liar? And if he did, was he right? She considered him a moment.

"Yes," she answered truthfully. Though she failed to elaborate on what she may have said to him that was the truth. He nodded his head, turned on his heel and marched for the door, then seemed to reconsider, and walked back. "Forget something?"

"If you need me ..." he seemed to trail off, suddenly uncomfortable with the display. He tapped the back of her hand where she'd placed them on the table and gave her a meaningful look. "You know where to find me."

And after everything they'd gone through, his compassion confused her. And overwhelmed her. And all she wanted to do was sleep. She nodded, standing to walk him to the door. And against her better judgement - against what her mind was screaming at her, she grabbed his forearm to stall him when he made to exit.

His eyebrows raised slightly, enquiringly. She took a deep breath, her heart hammering. "I didn't lie to you in Paris." His blue eyes searched her face, looking for the truth, she suspected. She hoped he found it, because she had no reason to lie to him now. And then he nodded again and disappeared out the door, into the night.

Jenny closed the door and leant back against it, her pulse racing. Why had she said that? Why had she brought up the past like that? Without waiting a second, she knew her answer; she'd never managed to stem the feelings she'd had for Jethro. And what she'd started, she had no way of finishing. She'd made her choice, and in a moment of weakness, she'd tried to rekindle everything.

She made to open the door when the telephone interrupted her. Lifting it from the receiver, she didn't even bother to glance at caller ID.

"Hello?"

_"Director Shepard, it's Cynthia. I've just had an important phone call from SecNav. He'd like to speak to you personally about the death of one of our agents in California ..." _

Jenny's heart hammered uncomfortably. Her gut was telling her something wasn't right. "Of course, no problem, Cynthia. I'll be in soon. Did he mention any names?"

_"Special Agent William Decker?" _


End file.
